La Fin De Les Miserables
by Silverwinged Blackbird
Summary: I posted this before but took it down due to the change in ff site rules...now I've fixed it and am reposting! An and of lives...rhr implied, but no romance....one shot


**A/N: I can't write fluff when I'm depressed, so I give you my first ever Harry Potter fic. WARNING: it contains references to the 5th book…. but no real spoilers-I don't think. (Yet why you'd be reading fics when there is a book out I really can't say.)**

**IMPORTANT: while normally song lyrics get skipped, I suggest you read these. They add to the story…but whatever. Your choice.**

**Shrink: tell everyone that you don't own Harry Potter.**

**Raven: I don't own Harry Potter…but I do own Draco Malfoy.**

**Shrink: Tell everyone you don't own Draco Malfoy.**

**Raven: No!**

**Shrink: Now, what did we talk about? I'll give you a blowtorch if you tell them you don't own him.**

**Raven: Fine. I don't own Draco Malfoy. torches shrink**

**Yes, actually, I do. But I don't own Les Mis…so someone else can have that.**

Le Fin de les Miserables 

_(the end of the miserable)_

By L. Raven Grey 

It was in the quiet calm after the storm that the stars last shone. Their brilliance filled the night on a deserted London street; though their raw silver didn't reach the darkened corners of the road. The streets were empty and silent as the lone witch wandered towards her destination, though where she was going she could not remember. In fact, nothing seemed to catch her memory: who she was, where she was, and why she was there all managed to evade her thought. She passed shop windows; all broken and dusted from lack of buyers of wares, and mannequins left unattended and missing limbs among the shards. One such window struck a nerve of snakes-though the woman in the tattered and bloody rags couldn't place it. As her breath became shallower the young witch of seventeen leaned against the building across from the window to catch it. The night only seemed to get darker before her eyes; the stars seemed to shine more and more faintly as she walked on, a narrow trail of crimson in her wake. Yet the calm remained, though the woman couldn't remember the storm.

Did you see them  
Going off to fight?

Children of the barricade  
Who didn't last the night?

Inside that broken window, the healer Sepherras magic-ed her sinuses to make what might be her last entrance into the room of the boy. His father had asked for muggle equipment when magic had not save him, and the 'heart monitor' blipped continuously on its jagged journey. The room was filled with flowers of every kind: some that sang, some that changed color, and many that cried. At the center of the baskets lay a single teenaged boy with flaming hair, lifeless except for the 'monitor' on the bed.

Sitting at his bedside Sepherras took his hand as she felt another serge of pity. Magic could not wake him, and he was all alone. In a novel, the boy's true love would appear and save him-but this was not a novel. In the darkened room lit by one flickering candle, the calm seemed to choke on the inhabitants as it soothed. The healer stroked the boy's cold hand, thinking of the loving husband and child she had waiting for her at home. He had no one, not a soul to ease his journey as he passed.

Yet he was famous. The flowers Sepherras were so allergic to proved this. How could a Fighter of the Dark face the end alone? Surely he had someone?

No. He was alone on the second dark night of his suffering in a hospital room in Saint Mungo's. That was how the real story ended: there was no happily ever after.

Did you see them  
Lying where they died?  
Someone used to cradle them  
And kiss them when they cried.

Ron Weasley was could feel someone stroking his hand. Looking over, he saw Hermione lying next to him in the great four-poster bed. "are you scared?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes."

Ron could never Hermione being scared of anything…yet he imagined even Harry lay sleepless in his grave. Yet Voldemort was dead. He was gone. Slowly the comforting stroking faded away and Ron realized he was alone on the cold ground. Smiling bitterly, he tried to pull himself to his feet; collapsing as the effort failed. She had disappeared. He was dead. Of the ledgendary trio, he was all that was left: a tortured, heaving mass sprawled crying upon the ground.

What would the Death Eaters think if they could see him now?

_Look at muggle-lover! He dared to love a mudblood, and be a brother to the Boy Who Lived. Where is he now? Lying almost dead, alone, broken, on the ground!_

And they would laugh. His tears for the family he had lost mixed with the blood as slowly his life drained from him; he wished nothing more than death to fin him.

_Did you see them lying side by side? _

The woman staggered to her feet before collapsing again against the wall. Closing her eyes, she struggled to find a memory to hold on to.

But there was nothing there. All she knew was that she had no strength to carry on, no place to go. How could she?

She didn't even know her name.

_Who will wake them?  
No one ever will.  
_

_No one ever told them  
That a summer day can kill._

The cries of pain and death were everywhere. Ron and Hermione held the Death Eaters off as Harry fought the final match. The were secluded in a grove of trees; no one knew yet what the battle had entailed.

Suddenly thunder shook the ground as the white orb expanded, devouring Death Eaters and surviving wizards in it's wake. "Harry!" Ron screamed as he ran towards the deadly sphere.

Behind him glowed red as the voice he had grown to love cried out in pain. "Ron!" but he never heard it in his rush to save his foster-brother.

It was only after he had said his last goodbyes to Harry that he found Hermione was gone.

They were schoolboys  
Never held a gun...  
Fighting for a new world  
That would rise up like the sun.

They were silent as they eyes of the world turned to them. Ron couldn't cry; he couldn't breath. The legendary three had one defense, and that defense was buried six feet below his boots. The spring air was icy, and embraced him as he drifted.

And then they were holding hands. The three of them, together, facing the world of desperation they were now expected to save. Hermione stood strong on one side, Harry-their beacon-stood silent on the other. Dumbledore was gone. Could they face the Dark Lord alone?

"Ron, we'll all be there together," his mother smoothed his hair as she comforted the trio. "We'll make it out alive."

They nodded and smiled, but the sense of foreboding in their hearts would never leave, not until they were gone.

The night before was all a blur, but he remembered kissing Hermione- he'd wanted to do that for the longest time. She had kissed him back and they had savored the moment together; he would remember that forever.

_Where's that new world now the fighting's done?_

Nothing changes.  
Nothing ever will.  
Every year another brat, another mouth to fill. 

Sliding gingerly down the wall the woman began to cough. Turning to her side she heaved as blood spilled from her mouth to the unforgiving ground. As she closed her eyes she suddenly remembered a kiss…though she couldn't remember where or when or even with whom. But she had a memory-even if it was only an emotion. She could treasure that in what she now knew was her end.

Turning to her side again the witch began to cough up blood for the second time that night. There was no one on the streets to help her as she cried.

_Same old story. What's the use of tears?  
What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears?  
_

Turning, turning, turning, turning, turning  
Through the years.

It was time for N.E.W.T.s. Ron was seventeen and just about as prepared as a three-year-old. He had studied-thanks only to Hermione. But something didn't feel right about this place. As he, Harry, and Hermione reached for their scrolls to transport, Dumbledore stepped in. Making contact with each of them, his eyes looked graver than the three had ever seen. "Grab them-but be prepared," he had whispered to them as they took his advice. "This is out of my hands."

Portkeys. Now Ron could understand why Harry hadn't wanted to talk after the third task back in their fourth year. The sensation behind his naval had landed the trio in a clearing. Dumbledore let go of them as he raised his wand. He never saw the red jolt coming. Thankfully there was time to bury their beloved headmaster: it had only been a few Death Eaters…but they knew what was to come.

Ron thought to his secret love for Hermione. It seemed it was now or never; and he would never forget the flutters in his stomach when she looked at him.

_Turning, turning, turning through the years  
Minutes into hours and the hours into years.  
Nothing changes. Nothing ever can  
Round about the roundabout and back where you began. _

Painlessly the witch reached up and wiped the blood and tears from her face. She was numb, and finally…finally she could sleep.

Alone outside Saint Mungo's hospital, Hermione Granger didn't last the night.

_Round and round and back where you began!_

Much to the shock of Sepherras, her patient slowly opened his eyes. Maybe these muggle 'heart monitors' were good for something after all. Even as the bumps on the line slowly got smaller and smaller, the boy spoke. "Tell her…I love her."

Sepherras smiled and kissed his forehead; feeling so sad that he was left alone. "I will," she whispered.

While in the streets below a witch who had lost her memory remembered a kiss, the line on Ronald Weasley's heart monitor slowly moved to flat.

**A/N: Well, there you have it. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review, even though this is a one shot. It's my first HP fic, so I'd love to know how it went. Just no flames if you please.**


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